When We Were Young
by voile
Summary: What's going on with our faveorite GG characters, years after they've graduated? Are Zach and Cammie still together? Is her father really dead? And who exactly is Joe Solomon?
1. Chapter 1

**So this is my first GG fan fic- although I've had story ideas stewing around in my head for a while. Let me know what you think! –voile**

The bus stop was unusually empty of people. Normally, everyone would be going to the red light district (the biggest hive for clubs, brothels, and drug cartels in the city) at this hour of the night. It was just after sunset, and the sky was cloudy and dark. The humidity in the air was causing a girl's hair to frizz up. Other than the hair, and the outrageously pink bubblegum she was chewing, she was completely unremarkable.

The girl standing next to her however, was. Olive skin, red lips, and perfectly done makeup. A mane of perfectly curled dark brown hair. Hazel eyes that kept casting flirtatious glances at the hot looking guy two seats over. But neither he, nor the unremarkable bubblegum girl, were giving her any attention. This slightly irked the girl (for our purposes, lets call her nameless hottie #1) and she tossed her hair and pouted. What irritated her even more was when her pouty faced 'vogue' look landed right on the bus driver, who had just pulled up. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. She just rolled her eyes and strode past him. The dark haired boy got on after her, and then the bubblegum girl, who let a frown wrinkle her brow for a moment, before making her expression go blank.

Hottie and dark haired boy sat next to each other. Bubblegum girl sat a few places behind, and on the other side. A business man in a tux and a hobo sat down as well, taking their places in proximity to hottie. A few other people on the bus shuffled around, so that the new arrivals couldn't see their bus pulled out into the crowded Italian street.

Hottie struck up a conversation with dark haired boy. Bubblegum girl couldn't hear what they were saying above the hubbub of voices and engines. But he listened politely, and he had a predatory glint to his eyes that the girl recognized. The Italian hottie flirted outrageously with him. The girl chewed her bubblegum harder and blew a bubble, making it pop with a noise that startled the dark haired boy, so that he stared at her with intense blue eyes. She raised her eyebrows at him, popped an even larger bubble, and pulled the signal cord. His eyes widened in response, and he gave an almost indecipherable nod, before turning back to the hottie and apologizing. The bubblegum was discreetly stuck to the floor. The bus pulled to a stop, and both he and the bubble gum girl stood up.

"Questa è la mia fermata." _This is my stop, _he said to the hottie. She blew a kiss.

"Ciao."

As he exited the buss, he sped up to catch the bubblegum girl.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Nice to see you again." she said.

"That didn't answer my question, did it?"

"I was saving your sorry ass, once again." she said. He smirked.

"Seeing as every person on that bus had it in for me, I think I was managing fine."

"At least with that slut you were. I thought she was about to drool."

"Jealous much?"

"Were you thinking of taking her to bed? Don't forget to use protection!" she said in a motherly voice.

"I was thinking of shooting her in a dark alleyway." he said bluntly.

"Well it looks like I've taken care of that one for you." said the girl in a singsong voice. Neither of them blinked or startled when the bus they had left behind exploded, sending orange rays of beautiful destruction into the night.


	2. Chapter 2 the motorcycle

**Thanks for all the reviews I've gotten in the past day or so! I've never gotten such an immediate response before, so this is awesome! Sorry if anyone's confused, this chapter should explain things. That chapter was meant to have no point of view. Also, it's been a while since I've read this series, and I've had this fan fic in the back of my mind for over two years, so if I get anything wrong about the characters etc. feel free to let me know!**

**-voile**

Cammie POV

I hated the way that girl looks at Zach. I felt like strangling her. Blowing her up won't be quite as satisfactory as squeezing the life out of her with my bare hands.

But what am I saying? No I am most certainly not jealous. No way in hell.

I've been tailing Zach for a few hours now- and he hasn't noticed. He's too pre occupied with the five other tails he has, and staying alive. Can't say I blame him. I'd be squirming a bit in his shoes. Apparently his job involved the Italian mob, and someone blew his cover. I tend to get called in when things start going sour, so here I am.

Italy is one of those ridiculous places where it's still hot and muggy at night. Ick. My hair looks like someone sent an electric shockwave through it. I hope Zach doesn't think- Why should I care what he thinks? I shouldn't. Head in the game Chameleon. That comes first.

I pop the gum in my mouth while waiting for the bus. The stuff tastes gross- seeing as its not actually bubblegum but two chemical compounds that tend to react violently when bonded. According to the CIA health department it's safe to eat the stuff, but they've been wrong before. Oh well. We all get on the bus, and I had to suppress a laugh as the driver wiggled his eyebrows at the Italian girl.

Zach's talking to that girl now. I know she's been tailing him all day, with the hope of giving him the off, but now it looks like he's got her wrapped around his finger. He's got that look in his eyes- and something reminds me of how he used to look at me like that. How he used to- that's enough.

To illustrate my frustration I pop a bubble as loud as I can- which is considerably loud because the compounds are starting to react. He looks at me with surprise, then I blow another loud bubble before pulling the cord. He nods. Hopefully he got the message.

_______________________________________

I can't suppress the grin any longer as we amble down the Italian side streets. Some guys holding beer cans and cigarettes ogled me, until Zach gave them a death glare and put his arm around my waist. He led me towards a motorcycle parked on the side of the street.

"This yours?" I asked as he borrowed a bobby pin from my hair, and put it in the key slot.

"It is now. Let's go." I took the excuse to wrap my arms around him as he wove through traffic. From the way he suddenly took a breath, I could tell he noticed. Good. In the next week while we're together, I'm going to drive him absolutely insane. Serves him right, walking out like he did. A small voice in the back of my mind tells me that I did the same thing, he just did it first.

_You were so weak- not strong enough to say goodbye after four years of a relationship. Weren't strong enough to face your own emotions, and you still aren't. _

I tell it to shut up.

As we turn a corner, a black town car takes an illegal left turn, tires screeching as it skids across the pavement, then guns the motor to follow us.

_oh shit. _

"Zach, 6 o'clock."

"Got it." we change lanes in a tight space and run a red light- but now there's another on our tail. Zach speeds up and starts weaving in between cars on the crowded streets. The car must have a really good driver however, because it is almost keeping up with us. I look back and see a hand come out the passenger window- holding a gun.

"DUCK!" he gets down just in time as a shower of bullets whizzes over our heads. We take a hard right- sending other cars swerving to avoid us - and then head down an alleyway, too thin for the cars to fit. Wild shots fire into the night, and there's the scream of sirens in the distance. And then I notice that I've got a death grip on Zach, and I'm in a rather compromising position. Oh dear.

Zach POV

I don't think Cammie realizes she's got her legs practically wrapped around me. That's definitely not good for my focus, especially while driving. Because it makes me want to think of other times her legs- and arms- and other cough cough naked cough cough- body parts wrapped around me… ahem. Instead of dodging bullets. But then again, why should I be thinking about that? It was over, more than a year ago.

_Because you walked out, and this is the first time you've seen each other since, _

says an annoying voice in the back of my head. And then adds unnecessarily,

_and she's still as sexy as ever. _

But once we're out of the fray and moving towards the safe house Cammie starts to loosen her grip on me. Prob'ly a good thing.

_She still likes to blow things up, _I thought with a smile. The bus job was amazing. It was kind amusing how she glared at the Italian chick- even though I barely noticed. I'll admit that part of flirting with her like that was just to see if it would still piss Cammie off. And it did.

_Cammie's so much fun to irritate_, I thought, smirking.

"What are you smirking at Goode?" _Jesus she can't even see my face! How can she tell?_

_"_When's the last time I explained _that_ to you Cammie?" I can't see her face either but I know she's rolling her eyes.

"We're going back to the safe house and getting changed." I tell her.

"Why? Where are we going?"

"Clubbing."

"Are you asking me out on a date?" she says with mock surprise in her voice.

"No. A mobster runs the club and I have to make a deal with him. And you're coming with me." I tell her. We motor the rest of the way across town in silence.


	3. Chapter 3 Going Clubbing

**Ok, warning, so this chapter goes in and out of having a point of view. Some of you liked that, which was great. Some of you got very confused, which is ok, but just to help you out, how Zach and Cammie look is usually consistent throughout the scene. **

**Thanks again!**

**-voile. **

Zach POV

It took me about 5 minutes to get dressed. I just put on the first thing I grabbed out of my closet- a darkblue button up shirt, and my favorite black jacket. My dark colored jeans look fine to me. Then I washed my face, and shook my head until my hair laid flat. I tucked a couple knives into various pockets, and other weapons. Not like I needed them, but they were always nice to have. Deodorant was sort of an afterthought.

So when I walked out of my room and into the foyer of the safe house to find Cammie already dressed, that was kind of shocking. The second shock was how she looked. I found it hard not to let my jaw drop to the floor. I did raise my eyebrows though, and my eyes widened. She was wearing a green strapless corset top and black pants that hugged her curves. _Where do you hide a gun in a getup like that?_

Her hair wasn't frizzy anymore, it was wavy and shiny.

_That's how you liked it. _

She smiles at me.

"In case you were wondering, I've been properly trained how to impale someone with these heels. You got any sort of a plan?"

"Yep. And it involves you playing the clueless girlfriend." I said with a smirk.

"Lets come up with a different plan." she said automatically.

"That's the only way I could think of getting you into the back room. Girls make this guy nervous." _Girls that don't crawl into his lap that is._

"You'd better not be enjoying this."

"Oh definitely not. Most of the time I prefer girls who speak their mind and can whip my ass whenever it strikes their fancy." I say with a straight face. She whacks me over the head and I smirk.

"Gonna impale me with your stiletto now?"

"Shut up."

We walked out to the car, and I headed towards the driver's side, until Cammie grabbed the back of my collar.

"Nice try. You're riding shotgun."

"What! No way! This is my car!" _No way is she driving my baby!_

"I'm the better driver, and I've got the keys." _How'd she get those? They were in my pocket just a second ago!_

"Unless I take them from you." I said reaching for them. But she held them just out of my grasp.

"Come on. When was the last time you were able to take anything from me?" she asked with a smile.

_Hah. She set herself up perfectly._

"What? You mean besides your virginity?" I asked with a smirk. That earned me another backhanded slap and a glare. I couldn't help but laugh as I walked around to the passenger door.

______________________________________________________________________

Cammie POV

I swear to God Zach is gonna get himself shot one day. That last comment was totally uncouth. You just don't bring up that sort of thing in polite conversation, and you never bring it up with ex-girlfriends-Or sort of ex girlfriends…

God why does he have to be so irritating!

_Because he's Zach. _

Grr.

"What's our cover?" I ask.

"I'm a spokesman for a rich business man. Actually I'm more like a mercenary for fat rich businessmen." he says. I roll my eyes.

"As long as the CIA gets their ends achieved they don't really care what I do- short of starting wars that is- and I tend to be a little… shall we say, 'creative.'" said Zach.

"Nice. Name?"

"Just call me Hermes," he says, smirking.

"Zach, be serious."

"Oh you're no fun. My name's Dante. And I'm not a character you mess with, if you catch my drift." I raise my eyebrows because off the top of my head I can think of at least 20 different references for 'Dante' not the least of which are _Dante's Inferno _and Alexander Dumas' vengeful character, Edmund Dante. **(Alexandre Dumas is one of my favorite authors. Works include: The Three Musketeers, and The Count of Monte Cristo.)**

"That's assuming quite a bit for a name." Zach grins.  
"Still subtle enough though right? It's not like I'm calling myself Odysseus."

"That's Greek, not Roman." I tell him. He rolls his eyes.

"Hercules then."

"That's also Greek." He doesn't say anything to that.

"I'll call you Cara then."

"Oooooooh so sweet of you Za- Dante." Cara means "beloved" in Italian.

"Yeah, _whatever." _Now I can tell he's wishing he hadn't said that.

"Who are we seeing anyways?"

"His name's Nero."

"Now that's _definitely _not subtle." **(for those of you who don't know your roman history, Emperor Nero was a tyrant… I think he ate someone at some point and killed his mother, and burned down an entire city. Correct me if I'm wrong.)**

________________________________________________________________________

_Warning! No POV!_

Club la Banca

22:00 hours

Italian pop music blasting from the stereos and flashing strobe lights cut out one's senses of sight and sound. Here, in the night world, things are done by smell, touch, taste, and _feel; _a sort of sixth sense that tells you when to keep going, and when to run and hide.

Here, the party is just starting. On the floor, near the middle people gyrate to the beat, some swing their hips with their hands in the air, and some hop up and down, awkwardly, wishing they were bold enough to be in the middle. Some sit politely at tables, in ones and twos, drinking colorful drinks that no one knows the name of. At one end of the bar, there are the young, glamorous, and beautiful. At the other end are the drunken slobs. In one corner, near the Dj couples passionately make out, with an '_I could care less' _attitude. There are two hallways leading out, one to offices, one to back rooms that, according to the law, when it has its bribes, do not exist. Occasionally stray women, dolled up to the point of gaudy, lead all too willing men down this hallway. Other times, an eerie smoke emanates from these rooms, attracting people on the scarier side of not quite right.

From a balcony that is invisible from the floor, a young boy watches the proceedings with interest. He drowns in his clothing, and the baby fat that once rounded a cherubic face has been replaced with hunger. His only remarkable feature is his eyes; they are dark, and sharp. His name is Pablo; small. And he's waiting for someone.


	4. Chapter 4 Nero

**Thanks again to all my reviewers for the great feedback! **

**Sorry this has been so long. I've recently had helluvalotof homework. ie, four different tests, an APUSH paper (that's like half my grade- and is supposed to be written as well as a college freshman's) and at least five other projects due in the next two weeks. My life is insane to begin with. This was soooooooooo not necessary. **

**To answer some questions and comments: Zach is irritating. I know. But he grows out of it eventually, just like in the series. He has to get comfortable with people before he 'takes off the mask.' And yes, kind of a perv, but they're about 23. Honestly, guys never grow out of that. **

**Yes, Pablo is very important. And, he is **_**MINE. **_**MY character. Mwahahahaha. ******

Pablo POV

The club's sure busy tonight. Raul is here. Maybe he will say something to me again. He told me how to listen at keyholes properly once. I like knowing what the others are up to. I like knowing what Nero is planning. I just like… knowing things. It makes me feel powerful. Everyone shoves me around. But I know things. Someday I'll skrew them all over.

I hate working at _la banca. _I hate the people who come here. I hate the other employees. I hate Nero.

_Did you hear that?! I hate you, you bastard son of a bitch! Go die in a hole!_

I really wish I could say that out loud. But Nero thinks I love him. Thinks because he brought me off the streets and made me his slave, made me _good _enough to sit and eat his _table scraps _like a _dog. _Good enough to be an errand boy. Good enough to be his spy. Good enough to wear Orso's castoffs.

Aren't I just as human as he is?

'yes master' this, and 'yes Emperor Nero' that.

I'm sick of groveling.

I used to matter. Used to be important to people. Used to care about them.

Damn you to hell Nero.

Orso whips the curtains open in a grand motion, temporarily flooding the balcony with light.

"Ehi! Don't open the curtains like that!" I say, irritated.

"Or what _vampire?_ You'll melt in the light?" he says with a laugh. I look him straight in the eye and he flinches. It tends to scare adults when I look at them like this. (I practiced in the mirror a couple times- scared the shit out of myself, tripped over backwards and nearly got a concussion.)

"No. I'm worried they'll see your ugly face and go into cardiac arrest." I tell him, mildly looking away. But then Orso seems to remember his size- big as a bear, and stupider.

"Shut up little _Pablo." _he says, giving my head a shove that nearly sends me flying over the balcony. "_Stai zitto_, little runt. What do you know?" I ignore him, and the throbbing in my head for a moment.

"Did Nero have anything to tell me?"

"He just said to bring in Dante when he gets here." says Orso. And with another grand flourish of the curtains, he leaves. He didn't tell me who Dante was. I don't know what he looks like.

_Thanks a lot Orso. Bastard. _

I watch the people on the floor, the movement there. You can see where there are small centers, people taking their cues from people in the middle. Those centers don't even know what kind of power they have over the others.

_What would happen if they did know?_

Suddenly there is a break in the crowd, near the entrance. There is light from the street there, so I can just make out colors. Two people are walking through, and there is something about them that seems to both repel and attract others.

The man is tall, with dark hair, a strong jaw line, and piercing blue eyes. The woman next to him isn't quite so striking, there's something about her that just says _average. _But she isn't waiting for the man's que at all, like women like her usually do.

_Strange._

Their gazes shift, and at one point the man looks straight at me. It feels like he's looking straight into my eyes. I flinch and take a step back, and I see him raise his eyebrows. Then the woman takes his arm, and they ease through the crowd. People automatically get out of their way, even if it's only a fraction of an inch.

_They have power. That's what it has to be._

They make their way to the middle, where they join the movement, blending in with the crowd, but not quite. There is something about them that still stands out. Maybe it's the way the man seems to see everything without looking, or the way the woman seems to know just how to make people look away. The way she moves, just seems to flow. I don't know.

Slowly, people seem to get used to them, and move closer, pushing them closer together. The man, from behind the woman, almost stumbles-

_Was he surprised?_

There is a hint of a smile at the corners of _la donna's_ lips, or am I imagining it? As she wraps her arms around _il giovane's _neck, bringing him even closer, right up against each other now. His eyes close slightly as he runs his hands slowly down the sides of her body, to rest where her hips join her legs. Then his eyes open again, and this time you can tell he only has eyes for _her. _

_Mio Dio. What kind of power does it take for someone to look at you like that?_

And all of a sudden, I realize that _this_ must be Dante. I don't know who the woman is- his _fridanzata? _His lover?

_I don't have time to think about those things. I just have to get them to Nero. _

The curtains barely part as I slip between them.

______________________________________________________________________

Cammie Pov

_Focus. focus on the mission. Ignore him-_

But that's hard to do, when you're dancing _like that _with Zachary Goode. Heat radiates from the place we touch, _almost everywhere,_ and the place where my bare skin touches his neck is on fire. Shallow breathing, heart beating, blood pounding through my veins, the music just exaggerating the feeling of flying. And there is a part of me, I realize, that is _craving_ this, wanting _more. _And then there's another part of me, that knows the mission is more important, tells me,

_What are you doing? What do you think you're doing? Idiot. This can't happen. He'll just walk out again. Stop this before it gets to that point. But not now. Now just focus on the mission…_

In a break in the music, I speak up.

"Zach?"

"Hm?"

"Nero?" I say reluctantly, turning around.

"Oh… right. Nero. I…" He has a dazed look in his eyes. They're in another place, and I really don't want to bring him out of it, but I have to.

"Snap out of it Goode." I say in a cold voice. He blinked, shook his head once, and then looked at me, his mask back in place.

"Lets go then." he says, then leads me out of the crowd, towards a hallway. A boy is waiting in front of it.

_He can't be more than twelve. What is he doing in a place like this?_

Dark, baggy clothing that he practically floats in, and a mop of long wavy dark hair. Dark eyes. His stance is careful, tentative, but not weak. His gaze is steely.

"_Tu sei Dante?"_

_"Si."_

_"Vieni con me. Nero è in atessa." _He leads up to the door, where a large guard blocks the path.

"_Ehi? _Where are you taking these ones?" he asks our guide.

"Nero wanted to see them."

"Aha. Right. Pablo, I suggest you take these people away before I get angry." says the guard.

"He told me to bring them in." insists the boy. Apparently his name is Pablo.

"Shut up Pablo. You're wasting our time." the guard gives Pablo a light shove, but he doesn't back down. Instead he fixes that steely gaze squarely on the guard's face, and gives a mock sigh.

"Pity. There goes your job when Nero finds out you didn't let these people in." The guard ponders this for a moment, then says,

"If you're not telling the truth, I'll make sure you'll get the blame." And then as we walk through the door, he adds, "And then Pablo, maybe I'll be out of a job, but you'll be back out on the streets." his laugh echoes down the hallway. Pablo mutters something under his breath. Zach shoots me a look.

At the same time I'm noticing that this place is _not _very well defended. There was the door guard, and cameras and guns hidden here and there. Pretty obvious. I think a couple of the floor boards are trap doors. Nothing more than that, but it's not like this place was the CIA. Here, someone snuck in and the point was to get rid of them, not to find out why they came. At the end of the hallway, there is another guard, who takes one look at Pablo, and another look at us, and then cocks his gun.

"Give me one good reason." he tells Pablo.

"Nero wants to talk to them. I don't think he wants 'em dead before that."

"Who is this?"

"Dante."

"Oh. Yes Nero does want to see you." says the guard, addressing us now. "I can take you to him." I find it odd that they don't question my presence.

"Nero said that _I _was supposed to take them." says Pablo. But the guard ignores him except to casually cuff him on the side of the head.

"Nero is this way." said the guard. "so I guess you'll be leaving your post to take them?" asks Pablo.

"Go off and watch the crowd-Pablo. You're not needed here." the guard tells him.

"Well then I guess Nobody will be guarding the hallway then. I don't think Nero will be too happy about that. on well."

"What do you mean?" the guard asks. He's pretty thick, this one.

""On, I guess I just mean that… well… The last guard to leave his post… well…" Pablo is drawing this out on purpose.

"He got fired. No biggy. I heard he got a job somewhere else."

"Is that what they told you?" Pablo shakes his head. "They took him out and shot him. That's what they did." Pablo says. A look of honor spreads over the man's face.

"If I were you," Pablo whispers conspiratorially," I would want to keep my head on my shoulders." the man is now white faced. He doesn't say anything, but waves us on through. Once out of earshot, Pablo tells us,

"I in going to pay for that once he finds out his gay lover is not actually dead."

"I owe you one," says Zach. The boy turns around in surprise, but then he puts the angry mask back on.

"People like you don't 'owe' people like me."

"What do you mean? You're a person. I'm a person. I owe you one." Zach explains.

"_Estupido._ Things don't work that way." the boy mutters. He's silent the rest of the way. Pablo leads us up a few flights of stairs, and into a better part of the building. The floors are carpeted, and the walls are covered with paint instead of peeling wallpaper. The ceilings are higher, and lit by warm glowing lamps. Doors line the hallways, and Pablo knocks on one. It opens, and we are let in. There are very few exits to anywhere around here. This is the point I start wondering if we will ever come out.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Zach POV

_Ignore her. Your on a mission idiot. Ignore the chick----_

_The beautiful, amazing, kick ass, sexy---_

_And no adjectives either!_

I have to keep from involuntarily scratching the back of my head. But Cammie sees my hand twitch, looks at me, and I can tell she's just as frustrated as I am- let alone nervous about going into a place with very few exits. I counted- there were exactly six ways out of here, all with their various risks. And this Pablo is leading us deeper and deeper into the maze, finally stopping in a room with plush red carpets and mahogany benches, covered with velvet cushioning.

_Nice. Nice placement of hidden cameras too. _

"Wait here." he says, and then walks through the door at one end of the room. There are a few muffled words, and then Pablo comes back out.

"Nero will see you now." he speaks without expression on his face, and it makes me wonder if the emotion was beat out of him.

"Thank you." I say. Again I earn a look of confusion. The door seals behind us.

We are in a wide room with a round table in the middle, with five chairs. An obese man with greasy black hair and a smile that doesn't reach his eyes sits on one end, flanked by a bored looking young man on one side, and an old, terse looking man on the other. Cam- Cara and I take the two seats opposite them.

"Signori Dante! How pleased I am to see you! It has been much too long!"

"Mutual, Signor Nero."

"And who is this one?" he asks me with a slight wrinkle in his brow. "Charming the ladies as usual Dante?" he says, scanning Camme. I silently plead with her not to flinch—she doesn't. She just giggles, and I cock an eyebrow at Nero.

"_Si tratta di Cara." _I tell him. He nods, and wiggles his eyebrows at her suggestively. She in turn pretends not to notice, smiling and batting her eyelashes at me.

_Note to self: Do not strangle fat Italian man before business deal is concluded._

"I suppose you are wondering why I asked for you here tonight." Nero says, getting down to business.

"I suppose I am." I say, even though I already know. Nero scrunches up his face, trying to figure out if I have just made a snide comment. He chooses to let it pass.

"There are rumors," he says, lowering his voice, "that there is a certain CIA agent, working as a mercenary for some of our business partners…" he breaks off here, sliding his eyes from the Young man to the old man, and then back to me.

"What exactly does this have to do with me?" I ask.

"Well, if existence of said agent was proven, then I suppose… he would be a loose cannon. And what do we do with loose cannons Raul?" he asks the young man, in a superior voice. Raul draws a finger across his throat, and wiggles his eyebrows at me.

"Unless of course," speaks up the old man, "we can find a way of controlling said cannon."

"Don't be vague with me gentlemen. Whom do you suspect?" I say, raising my eyebrows. The men inhale and glance at each other, then start muttering. Cammie steps on my food under the table- and starts a conversation in Morris code.

"_You had better have a way out of this." _

_" 'Course I do. You pick: double agent or out that window on the right?" _I ask.

_"Double agent, if you can pull it off. Otherwise I'd prefer taking the stairs."_

_"Oh come on. Window is way more bad ass."_

_"Not if you slide down the banisters."_

_"True." _I concede. Nero clears his throat. The boy, Pablo, still sitting in the back corner, has his eyes wide open in fear.

"Well, Signor Dante, we can do this the easy way or the hard way." At his words, Raul and the old man are reaching for guns inside their jackets. But before they can get theirs out, I pull two out of my jacket and Cammie pulls out hers from… no way.

_Down her shirt! Holy shit! When did she get the cleavage to hide that? Never mind. Focus- on the target idiot! Not what's under her shirt! Time enough for that later—_

Was I really just thinking that? What is wrong with me?

"You move, you're all dead." I tell them.

"Well Signori, if you shoot us than you won't get out alive." says Nero. _Well actually, we would get out alive, but…_

"Than I believe we are at a stalemate."

Italian translations (thanks to Google translator) In order of appearance.

Pablo- small

Raul- wise wolf

Orso- literally 'bear'

ehi- hey

stai zitto- shut up

la donna- young woman

il giovane- young man

mio dio- my god

fridanzata- girlfriend

tu sei- you are

veni con me- come with me

è in atessa- is waiting

si tratta di- this is


	5. Chapter 5 Walk the Line

**Hey! Thanks for all the great reviews! Let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns etc. I've also noticed that plenty of people who faved or put my story on story alert, did not actually review. Which is fine, you're not obligated to do so, and maybe I'm being a hypocrite, but its nice to have reviews. It makes my day. **

**Right now (November 13, 12:39 pm) I'm in Philosophy/Theology class. We're discussing Deontology, or the moral philosophy of what is right. Emanuel Kant. Not much of that in this chapter. But ah well. On with the tale…**

Pablo POV

Dante sure is a brave one. Or maybe he's just stupid. 'Cause nobody talks like that to Nero. Nobody pulls a gun on Nero and expects to live. Did they say CIA?

_Maybe they're trying to get rid of Nero! Maybe he's gotten in their way! Maybe I can help!_

_But can I trust them?_

_Does that matter? If they want Nero gone, they need me. _

"_Stupido_. No one talks like that to me, and expects to live. Put the gun down boy." says Nero with a sneer. Dante doesn't even flinch. He only cocks one eyebrow, a slight smirk on his face.

"Pretty high words for someone who, as you pointed out, has a gun leveled at your head. I'll put the gun down if you'll agree to deal with me."

"I agree to deal with you then." Nero says, rolling his eyes.

"Not so fast. Put your weapons on the table. And call off those men you have waiting outside the door." Nero curses. This Dante sure is good. The only way he could have known about them was to have heard them.

_Or maybe the woman did? _

"Pablo. Tell the guards they are not needed. In fact, this is no place for you. Get out." I quickly swallow my pride, and my hatred. And I made my face into what I hoped resembled adoration.

"_Ma Signori, _who will you have to take a bullet for you then?"

"Stupid little shit. Fine. Stay and get shot." he locks eyes with Dante for a moment as he takes his weapons out of their hiding places. I open the door and call off the guards, then move back to my place in the corner of the room.

"I have done as you asked. Take the gun out of my face." Dante lowers the weapon slightly, and the woman follows suit.

"There. It is out of your face." He is smirking again, and the woman, Cara, rolls her eyes.

"Don't tease them. We don't want them losing their tempers on us." she says.

"Awa. I was enjoying myself." From what I can tell, that earns him a kick under the table. _This woman definitely has some power over him._

"Oh trust me," says Nero, "I have already lost my temper. You two won't make it out of here alive."

"Yes we will. Once you've heard what we have to offer." says Dante.

"We don't deal with CIA." says Raul.

"Ah, but I'm not CIA." he says. Nero snorts.

"Then what the hell are you?"

"A mercenary. I deal with the CIA, along with everyone else. I do the jobs they ask for, I get paid. Simple. Until you complicated things."

"So shoot me then." says Nero.

"You're worth more money alive." Says Dante, and puts away his gun, as does Cara. Back down her shirt. I can tell Dante is trying really hard not to watch her doing this. Cara, if she notices this gives no sign of it.

"Earlier, you mentioned loose cannons. The way to control me? Also simple. Money."

"What about power?" asks Santo. A few grey hairs fall from his beard, along with crumbs of food from earlier meals, and tobacco.

"I make my own power." says Dante.

_Brave answer. Either he's a cocky idiot or he really is that good. Maybe both. _

Zach POV

_"Cammie? Any ideas?"_

_ "The Temibile mob is making a deal with Stephano." _Stephano is Nero's business partner. The _Temibile _is run by Nero's enemy.

_She knows everything!_

"What can you do for me then? What can you give me that others can't?" asked Nero.

"I can give _you _power. I know more about this city's underground than you do, and definitely more about the aboveground."

"Don't speak in riddles, Dante." say the old man.

"Yes. Speak in plain language Dante." says Raul.

"I give you information- that you couldn't get anywhere else. You follow my instructions, make a profit, either in cash or political standing, and I get paid. Like I keep telling you. Simple."

"People like you make things complicated. But I'm willing to try this. What do you think Santo?" he asks the old man.

"I think we should give it a trial run." says Santo.

"Fair enough." I say.

"Now, lets talk business. You might send your woman out of the room." says Nero.

"Cara won't talk. Now will you Cara?" I ask Cammie, pulling her onto my lap.

"_You are sooo paying for this Goode." _she says (in moris code) Out loud she says, "Why would I want to do a thing like that?" (giggle) and draws her fingers, softly, from my temple to my chin. Involuntary shivers go up my spine- but I can't let that show.

_Dammit Cammie. How does she do this to me? Focus Goode. Focus. _

_"Oh yes. Paying big time." _I tell her. I know she's trying hard not to slap me. I'm probably smirking again.

_Just ignore the heart acceleration factor. Ignore the whole 'shivers down the spine' thing. You're not in high school anymore. Act like it. _

"Alright then. Have it your way. But I am willing to say… I give you a quarter of your money now, and the rest when the information you give pays off."

"All now or nothing. Or you'll blame me when your schemes go wrong and I won't get the money." I say.

"Fine. 100 Euros." he slapped a wad of cash on the table. I just raise my eyebrows and don't make a move to get it.

"I won't go higher than 500." says Dante, putting even more cash on the table.

"Deal." I say, reaching for the money.

"Ah ah ah! Not so fast Dante!" says Raul.

"That's right. Information first." says Santo.

"I'm not that stupid. I walk out of here first, then you get your information." 1say. All three crossed their arms over their chest, leaned back, and gave me the 'bad guy look. Pretty typical. I just roll my eyes.

"Or I could just walk out of here without the money, and you wouldn't know who's playing you."

"Someone's playing us?"

"ooh, big time. You didn't know? Your supposed business partner is totally screwing you over."

"Is he now?" Nero says, in hushed tones.

"Money now, info later." I tell him. He slid it over the table and I pocketed it.

_Hopefully Cammie won't tell about the money. I liked that motorcycle earlier… I think she did too. _

"So? Who is this business partner?"

"I'll let you know in good time." I say, rising. Cammie gets off my lap—

_Was she actually reluctant? Or was that just acting for their benefit?_

"You think you're just going to walk out of here?" asks Nero, incredulous.

"Aah, yep."

"You won't make it out the front door." says Raul.

"I will. If you want the name."

"Why don't we just torture it out of you?" asks Santo. Apparently he's not so much of a saint.

"Because… to put it lightly there are people besides myself who want me alive and well. You don't want them on your back. If you want to be sure I'll give you the information, send someone with me." _Who I will then proceed to leave dead in a quiet alley…_

"He'll kill whoever we send with him." Says Santo.

"Send someone useless and stupid then." suggests Nero.

"We'll send Pablo then." Raul suggests. "No one cares if he dies. I was getting tired of him anyways." Pablo flinches. Apparently he had some attachment to Raul.

"I'll take him." I say, keeping my face blank.

_I can't kill him. So what will I do with him?_

"Good. Get rid of at least one pain in the ass." says Nero.

"I will contact you shortly." I say. Then walk out. Cammie and Pablo follow behind me.

"Got any stuff to pack?" Cammie asks.

"No. Leave me alone." he says.

_Great. So now I've got a kid with attitude problems, a business deal where I'm walking a thinner line than I want to be, and an ex girlfriend out for revenge—or is she trying to get me back?_

_ If she is, she's succeeding. _


	6. Meals and More Deals

**Thanks for the reviews! Sorry again, I got sick so this one took a while to get finished. I'm also having a little difficulty getting this where I want to go. I know what happens… but not how it happens… anyways. Let me know what you guys think. **

**So, I have done a little Italian… but it's kinda cumbersome to do them all the time. So, a quick distinction: If it's in quotations, it means someone's talking. If it's in italics, it means someone's thinking- or arguing with their subconscious. If it's in quotations **_**and **_** in italics, it means that someone is speaking in a language other than their native tongue. **

Cammie POV

Zachary Goode is _soooooo _dead. When we get back I am going to whoop his ass so bad he won't even be able to _walk _tomorrow morning.

_Or, you could just keep toying with him. See what happens… _My subconscious is arguing with me.

_Why would I do that? That would just be leading him on, and I don't want to treat him like that. It's wrong. _I tell the voice.

_ Would it really be leading him on? Would it?_

Yes of course—unless…

_Think about it._

Back to reality. Pablo's sitting in the back seat of the car, glaring. Zach's sitting next to me, with his thinking face on. That scares me.

Whenever Zach thinks about deep, life changing things, he gets this expression on his face. His eyebrows go at opposite angles, his mouth curls into a frown, and his eyes are vacant, staring at nothing.

_He's so cute when he does that!_

"Dante?"

"Is anyone hungry?" he asks out of the blue. No one answers.

"Well I am. Cara, go to _Serenità_ Street. There's a great café there…"

"It's nearly one in the morning!" I protest.

"Doesn't matter. It should still be open."

"Alright then." I say. In the back seat, Pablo keeps glaring. We make our way over to the street.

**Sorry- just as I'm writing this, I'm thinking about the song- 'On the street where you live" from **_**My fair lady. **_**Great movie. **

The café is a pleasant looking place- although it's obvious it's seen better days. Zach usually knows where the best food places in town are though.

*Note: Boys between the ages of 12 and 26 usually eat more than all the other age groups and genders combined. Zach is no exception. But he's also got taste.

I park and Zach and I get out of the car. Pablo just sits. Zach opens his door again and asks,

_"Vieni?" _

"_No."_

_ "Perché? Non ho fame?" _Pablo looks up.

"_A__vete intenzione di uccidermi."_

_ "No. Sono stanco. E non ne ho voglia."_

_ "Multa. Vengo." _Pablo gets out of the car, still with his glare firmly in place. The door of the café jingles as I open it.

"Ah Signori! You 'ave return-ed!" Cries a woman in broken English. She is short and overweight, and has dark hair streaked with grey, pulled back in a bun. Her face is wrinkled, but she has a spark of mirth in her eyes. There is no physical resemblance, but she sorta reminds me of my grandmother.

"You come to eat me out of house and home once again?"

"Yep. And I brought some friends this time. This is Cara, and Pablo."

"Aah, Cara. Seems like a decent one this time!"

_Decent? Kind of girls has he been… _I raise my eyebrows at Zach, and he gives me a 'tell you later' look.

"And Pablo? They named 'im well! He's only skin an' bones! Howabout we get some meat on you, eh?" she asks him.

"_No parlare inglese." _says Pablo.

"_Hai fame?" _she asks. Pablo hesitates.

"_No." _Pablo says, glaring. The woman gives him a look.

_ "How old are you?"_ she asks.

"_Twelve." _he says with a huff.

"_So are you telling me, that when I see a skinny Italian boy, who's twelve years old, and looks like he could eat an elephant, he isn't hungry?" _that actually gets a grin out of Pablo.

"_Sit sit! All of you, Sit!" _she says, herding us over to a table. _"Here. Here's a menu for you and you- you had better order more than one dish- and I know what you want Signor." _she says with a wink. Then she walks away to the kitchen.

_"What's her name?" _I ask.

_ "Roza. I stumbled in here by accident when I needed some- ahhem- sobering up." _Says Zach. I smirk, and Pablo raises his eyebrows a notch.

"_Christ, and I thought you were the one with the high tolerance for alcohol!" _I say.

In college, he won so many drinking games, just because he held out the longest.

_ "Well… even I have my limits."_ he says.

_ "Mmm hmm? And where exactly is that line?" _I inquire.

_ "Erm… about five double scotches and a shot of vodka…" _He squirms slightly in his seat.

_"Holy shit!" _says Pablo.

"_Oy! Watch your language!" _says Zach. Both Pablo and I crack up.

"_What!" _

"_You sound like mia madre-" _at the mention of his mother, the smile slowly shrinks from his face, and he looks at his feet.

_ "You too, huh?" _says Zach.

_ "I guess." _And just like that, he closes up like a book again.

Pablo POV

This Dante is probably the strangest person I've ever met. He's got a different character for every occasion. And I've only seen three of them. At first, he was the dangerous, flinty, knife edged person that scared me… and now he's all friendly, and getting me a good Italian meal… and then with Cara—

I still can't understand her at all. I don't know who she is. I don't know what she is. Nero called Dante a loose cannon, a wild card. But really it's her. She's the one I'm afraid of.

Nero wanted them to kill me. _Raul_ wanted them to kill me. But they're not killing me. They're not even sending me back to Nero with the information they were supposed to give them. Why? They're obviously not from around here. They never learned, 'eat or be eaten.' They just learned 'chew a little till you get what you want' it seems like.

We sat down at a booth next to a dirty window. The paint was peeling on the walls. But the place was homier than any I'd been to in a while.

"You know if I go back, Nero will kill me, yes?" I asked them.

"Yep. We had him figured for one of those when we went in there. Kinda a pointless waste if you ask me." says Dante.

"What do you mean? How would killing me be a waste?" I ask. Cammie laughs.

"Do you have self esteem issues or something?"

"I--" Zach cuts me off.

"Of course not—well, not exactly, right?"

"I don't know what you mean." I say. _Self esteem?_

"Well… correct me if I'm wrong Cammie—haven't had ethics class since freshman year—but there are really two values of a person. One is the value that society gives them. The other is the one they give themselves."

"Oh… I'd never really thought of that before. Seemed like the first kind was all that really mattered."

"Well, all that matters to anyone else. But it's the second kind that changes the first. It just is how people see you."

_Oh I get it now!_

"Like when I give that look at people?"

"Oh yeah I've saw you do that- that's sorta part of it."'

"What do I gotta do then? To make 'em fear me?"

"What you oughta go for is respect, not fear." says Dante

"What's that gonna do?"

"If people respect you, they've usually got more reason to fear you," Cara explains.

"Or even like you." adds Dante.

"I…" I began, but then realized something. "Do you always finish each other's sentences?" They looked at each with confused expressions, and then embarrassment.

"Erm…"

"Well…"

"Not usually." they said in unison. Then looked at each other again, Dante with an odd smirk, Cara with a frown.

"Wipe that smirk off your face."

"Awa come on! You know you love it!" he says with a smile, and then winces as she elbows him under the table.

"If you guys aren't too sick of dealing, I've got another deal for you." I say.

"What is it?" Dante says quickly.

"All you get out of helping Nero is money. And from what I've seen, it doesn't seem like you care about that so much."

"Hits the nail on the head, doesn't he?" Cara says, aside.

"Yep. One straight shooter."

"If you guys are part of the CIA—or work for them somehow—I guess… Do you want Nero around? I mean the gang and all…" I'm just lightly suggesting… hopefully they will take the hint.

_Hopefully they want to be rid of Nero as much as I do._

"Besides… as long as Nero's around you have to keep giving him information, keep helping him, otherwise he'll cut you off as a loose end."

"Smooth. Very smooth." Says Dante.

"Maybe a little too smooth?" suggests Cara

"Naaw. I liked it." he replies.

"Now that you're done critiquing my little spiel, can we get to the point?" I ask, impatient.

"You want to be rid of Nero." says Cara.

"A little straight shooting of your own," mutters Dante into his drink.

"Why don't you just take off?" she asks me. I start laughing.

"Where the hell would I go?" She nods thoughtfully.

"So you're looking to gain out of this then, not just get rid of him?" Dante asks, eyebrows raised.

"I--"

"What do you want… in general?" he asks. Nobody ever asked me that question before… and something in me snaps.

"I want to be free. I want to have something to call my own. I want friends. I want happiness. I want food whenever I want to eat! I want to be able to do what I want, whenever I want! I want to be in charge of things! I want… I want… Respect." My heart was pounding, and breath was coming in gasps.

"Well. As far as epic speeches go, I give you a B." says Dante, and Cara cracks up.

"Hey, not funny."

"Lighten up Pablo. You just happen to be in luck. You're right; we don't have much use for Nero. The question is, how can you help us with that problem?"

"I've got information. And I'm inside- I can get more, I can tell you all their plans, and mess them up. They think I'm too stupid to betray them. If I had your help, I could knock their knees out from under them!" I say. And it's true.

"You play it smart, you probably could. But what's in it for you, besides killing your boss?"

"He's not my boss." I spat. "He's my slave driver. My _master. _The bastard."

"Again, language."

"What do you care?" I ask. "What does it matter if I curse or not?" Dante just smiles at me, shaking his head. Cara, as if she knows what he's about to say, rolls her eyes, and in turn smiles and shakes her head at him. Me, I feel like I'm at the bottom of the food chain when it comes to head shakes, so I put on the widest grin I can manage, and shake my head back and forth like a dog.

Cara spit out the water she had just taken a sip of, and Dante had a look on his face—

It took about five seconds but then we all burst out laughing. It's not what I'm used to, this laughter. It bubbles up, and is warm, and makes me feel… happy. And when I realize that, I laugh even harder, just to stay happy for as long as possible.

"How much do you want rid of Nero?" I ask

"Me personally? I don't have a preference. But the CIA likes things… simplified. And I s'pose," Dante says, turning to Cara, "the chaos provided by Nero's collapse would insure that the CIA got power over certain trading deals through the Med, Middle east, etc…" then he turns back to me. "You want a better life basically."

"I want a life… what's it like to live outside the slums?" I ask. Cara and Dante look at each other, then look at me.

"Its nice." says Dante.

"Alright, let's set the terms. You cut the knees out from under Nero, we take you to the US to get an education. Sound fair?" says Cara

_Holy shit no way. No way._

"You—you're serious?"

"We'll give you a night to decide whether or not you trust us." Just then, Roza walks up and sets out our food, clucking almost like a hen.

"Here we are! Trust me! It's delicious! Original family recipe! Watchit! Watchit! They're piping hot! Ouch, watch your fingers! And you," she says to me, "had better give me back an empty plate! We need to fatten you up! Twelve year olds still need to have their baby fat!" Then she leans over and gives my cheek a pinch, before turning to walk back to the kitchen.

I look at the huge plate of food in front of me, bigger than twice my head, and then lift my hand to the side of my cheek.

_ What is this? I don't understand. Nobody's ever been like this before. I'm not used to being taken care of._

**For the record, my Italian is probably not that accurate. I used Google translator. And online translators are only accurate to a certain extent.**

**Italian in order of appearance:**

Coming

Why

Not hungry

You're going to kill me

I'm tired

And I don't feel like it.

Fine. I'm coming

No speak English

You hungry?


	7. Chapter 7 Night and what it brings

**Thank you guys sooo soooo much for all the reviews! I opened my email and I had like 20 emails from fan fiction, more than I've ever had about one of my stories, it was insane! Major confidence booster! Luv U guys!**

**Addressing some of your comments: **

**Some of you like the Italian, some of you find it confusing, etc. And quite honestly it's kind of confusing me as well, and it's a lot of trouble. I liked it at first but… Idk. Everyone please vote on whether or not I should continue with it!**

**Did I accidentally switch to Cammie and Zach? I'm sorry. I caught myself doing that at least five times. Guess I couldn't catch em all. Just to clarify, Pablo does not know their real names… Yet. **

**Thanks again, and on with the story!**

Zach POV

Sleeping arrangements. Shit.

We had brought Pablo back to my apartment, because we couldn't very well bring him into the CIA safe house. Cammie still technically lived there, seeing as she had only just arrived this afternoon. But Pablo was under the impression that we were together, i.e. we lived together. I didn't know how to back out of that arrangement now, even though it would be uncomfortable for both of us.

My apartment is nice, but small. The main room has three walls and a large window, overlooking the hills. There's a small kitchen tucked into a corner, and a small table, a "dining room". A doorway leads to the bathroom, and a short hallway leads to an office and a bedroom. Of course there are hidden compartments under the kitchen tiles, behind walls, and inside door panels. Also a security system that I'm not going to say much about, besides that it was designed by two good friends of mine and Cammie's, (**Liz and Jonas) **who are currently some of the CIA's top tech people.

We just got in from the Café, and it's four in the morning. Everyone's exhausted.

"_I'm staying here tonight?"_

_ "Si. You get the couch." _I told Pablo. I toss him a blanket.

"_Not the floor?" _He has a look of confusion on his face.

_ "Why would I put you on the floor?" _Now it's my turn to look confused.

_ "That's where I usually sleep…"_

_ "Well, if you'd prefer the floor, be my guest. I'm going to bed." _I stay just long enough to see him practically collapse on the couch, and fall asleep instantly.

_At least someone will be getting sleep tonight. _

Cammie and I walked into the other room.

"I call the bed." she says.

"I miss the days we could share." I said in a whiny voice.

"In your dreams." she says.

"I figured." I say, smirking. I turned the lights out, and curled up on the loveseat. Then I watched the clock for five minutes.

"We need to talk."

"Now?" Cammie asks in a groggy voice.

"Sometime in the relatively near future." I say.

"Well I'm tired right now."

"So am I, so--"

"So shut the hell up and go to sleep." she says. I smirk.

"And wipe the smirk of your face Zach." _Mind reader._

"I can't read your mind I just know you too well."

"Ditto," I say, and then add, "and don't roll your eyes at me." She snorts, and then we both crack up laughing.

"This is a ridiculous situation." I say when we finally stop.

"I know right? You know what would make it more ridiculous?"

"What?" _I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm being set up for a trap._

"If you were out of the closet."

"WHAAAT!!!!!????" I sit bolt upright.

"Just kidding." she says.

"Bull." _For the record, I walk the straight and narrow when it comes to that, thank you very much—not that I mind people who don't, but…_

"You kinda deserved it."

"Did not." _Bit- no. _

_ I'm not even allowed to call her names in my sleep?_

_ Not her. Never. _

"Go to sleep."

"How come you always say that when you're losing the argument? I ask, just to be irritating.

"Shut up."

"No you shut up."

"What are we, six?" Again, laughter. But then we both close our eyes- in vain. We know neither of us will get any sleep tonight.

_Cameron Morgan. Cammie. Mine, and now… what? She still gives me that feeling, like nothing else, and makes my insides turn to mush. I wonder if she still gets that. Wonder if she's been with anyone else since me. It seems obvious though, she hasn't given up on me…_

_ And me… I've dated at least 20 girls in the past year… to keep up appearances and all. I can't remember half of their faces. They lasted all of five minutes. All like that slutty chick on the bus. Contrary to Cammie's apparent opinion of me, I didn't sleep with any of them. Would have been a waste of time. _

_ She loves me,_

_ She loves me not._

_ What are we, 6? _

Her words from earlier spring back into my mind.

_No. We're 23. Hence, I'm going to talk to her. Why can't we talk now dammit?_

"Cammie?"

"Zach, don't--"

"I'm sorry." The words tumble out of my mouth. I can't control where they'll go.

"For what?" she asks, exasperated.

"For everything." She takes a long, deep breath.

"At least half of it was my fault."

"So?"

"So I'm sorry too." she says, although from the way her voice croaks, it's hard for her to get the words out too.

"Are we ok then?"

_I sound like an idiot. _

"Well, we're far from ok, but were definitely not at odds anymore."

"Good. I can work with that." I say. And then, in a barely audible whisper, she replies, "I was hoping you would."

Some things, I suppose, just don't change. And probably never will.

_I love her._

**Warning! No POV! **

**P.s. Business man and Bookworm are two different, currently un named characters. **

Air circulation and the pressure in the airplane cabin made hearing hard. But still if one listened, one could hear the faint tapping on a laptop keyboard coming from the middle of the plane. A few heads turned, to look at the man sitting in the aisle seat of row fifteen, but then turned back to their books, magazines, conversations, etc. He was un-interesting; another business man unable to afford first class seating. The bedraggled tweed suit he wore had seen better days, and his thick black rimmed glasses barely clung to his straight, sharp, nose. His dark, salt and pepper hair was cropped short, and he had a five o'clock shadow.

But one man did not look over at the obnoxious typing noise. He was sitting directly behind the business man, reading a very large book—more of a tome. A woman had the aisle seat of the same row, and her small daughter sat in the middle, fidgeting. Her blond pigtails kept whapping the bookworm in the face, and it irritated him so much that he shot a malevolent glare at the girl. She smiled back at him, the large grin making her look like a Cheshire cat.

"What book is that?" she asked. The man said the first thing that came to the top of his head, which happened to be,

"Killing-- er—how to kill someone with a gun. All about the wounds and such. Terribly grizly stuff." That was mistake number one. He could hardly mask the truth now.

"Is it interesting?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, very." he wanted to end the conversation before he made another mistake.

"Why?"

"Because it is."

"Why?"

"Its nice information to have."

"Its nice to know how to kill people?"

"Erm—No—the books also about what gunshot wounds do. I'm reading about this for school- I'm a med student." That was mistake number two for the bookworm, stuttering on facts that he would know as well as his own name. The businessman shut down his laptop, while the girl continued babbling to Bookworm.

"They make doctors learn about how to kill people? I didn't know that. I thought doctors learned about how to save people. That's why I want to be a doctor. Once, there was this girl at my school, and she had her appendix taken out. And she said she was gonna die if she didn't have it out, because the doctors said so. So they had to cut it out with a butcher knife, she said, and then once they had the appendix out they had the magical faeries come sew her up again. And then this other time there was this boy in my class who forgot to take his retainer out during lunch and so he started chocking on it, and all this blood came out and…"

Meanwhile, the business man carried his briefcase down the aisle towards the bathroom.

"S'cuse me, sorry—oh oops watch it!" he said, hitting people's various body parts with the briefcase as he tripped over the occasional stray foot. In the process, the ugly glasses fell off his nose and crunched as he stepped on him. But he just kept walking, and bumbling into people, without apparently noticing the lack of his glasses. Mistake number one for him.

He continued down the aisle and entered the bathroom. Bookworm looked over his shoulder, and then found an excuse to get away from the girl. He followed the business man, book in hand, and then disappeared from view, waiting behind the bathroom in the flight attendant area. He opened his book to page 100. Absolute classic-- a hole was cut in the x-ray proof pages of the book, concealing a gun. He pulled it out and waited, hiding it behind his jacket, and standing in front of the bathroom. But that was exactly when he made mistake number three. He was in front of the wrong stall.

Behind him, the business man stepped out of the stall—but now he had a clean shaven face, a black suit and tie, and a backpack on his back along with the brief case in his hand. In the other hand he held a wad of toilet paper, which as Bookworm spun around, Business man stuffed down the other's throat. Bookworm staggered, and then fell on the floor, dropping both gun and book as he chocked. The business man stepped to the back of the airplane, opened the door, and walked out into the night sky, managing to grab a small bottle of whiskey as he went.

As he fell, he chugged back the whiskey in the bottle, coughed once, and then popped his chute. A cell phone rang in his pocket; he pulled it out and answered.

"Hello. Joe Solomon here." someone said something on the other line, and then Mr. Solomon replied,

"No, I'm not drunk. Yet, that is." there was some more incoherent babbling, and then

"Yes, I always have something to drink before jumping out of a plane."

"No, I don't plan on passing out." The one sided conversation continued.

"Yes, I understand the mission. I'm no spring chicken, as you should well know."

"Yes, I'll try to bring them home safe. They don't need babying! Relax. They're fine." he rolled his eyes at the other party's next sentence.

"Knowing your daughter, I don't think she'd be with any 'indecent men'. Especially with Goode around. Honestly, how much can a mother worry?" she said something else, and then he said

"Hold on—I'll call you back once I've landed." He was coming close to the beach now, 20 feet away, then 15, and then he took of the chute, and dropped the last 10 feet, landing lightly on the sandy shore. The parachute sank slowly into the water and then dissolved. Mr. Solomon snapped open his phone as he walked away.

"Can you hear me now?"


	8. Chapter 8 Plans

**Ok. Sooooooooooo… I can't apologize enough for how long this chapter has taken. Its essentially filler, but its essential for getting the story where it needs to go, which, I can assure you, is much more exiting. Thank you all so much for all the support I've gotten, I couldn't have hoped for more. Now, on with the story…**

No Pov

The man called Solomon walked into the old part of the Italian town: the part that hadn't been destroyed during WWII and rebuilt. Now it was the slums, at the bottom of the hill, where dirty water and dirt poor people had trickled through the cracks, to pool here. People who saw Solomon seemed to melt away like shadows in daylight. The people thought he was a lawyer, come to clean up the mess. He wasn't, but he didn't really mind their reaction.

The slums melted into the red light district of the city, and there Solomon melted into the crowds of the night. He hailed a cab, which took him farther up the hill, into better and better neighborhoods. It stopped at one of the many colorful, cramped together apartment buildings on a wide street, in a nameless middleclass neighborhood. The sun began to rise. He got out of the cab and rang the doorbell. Here's when things veered from the norm. Scanners detached from the door and took both retina and fingerprint scans. Only then did the doors open, and then shut resoundingly behind him.

The man walked up a few flights of stairs, and then into a room with a desk. A woman with dyed blond hair sat behind the desk.

"Good. You're here. I've been waiting up for you." she said. Her voice was leisurely, warm, inviting, maybe even alluring?

"Sorry about the time difference." he said, and in sharp contrast to her voice, his was brusque and cold. It would remain so.

"Well. I suppose you know the situation. I called you here because I'm worried about two of the younger operatives stationed here." her voice hinted at something, she wanted to skip past the business.

"Yes." was all he said. He wanted the business to take as much time as possible.

"Well at first, there was just one, and he was doing fine till his cover slipped. So they sent in another, who got him out of that situation—by setting up an entirely new one. They're playing triple agent between two of the most powerful mobs in the city, and an important businessman who's been double dealing them."

"Is there a problem with that?"

"Well, besides the increased violence in the past few days, several buildings and a bus blowing up, and general chaos in the red light district, nothing much is wrong. The chaos is providing a distraction from several other projects were managing here, plus taking out this threat will remove a problem that's been in our way for a while, but…"

"But what?"

"I think they're in over their heads. They're young. I don't know if they're ready for something like this."

"How have they come… so far?"

"Without a hitch. But they're walking on a knife edge Joe. Plus I think they have a romantic history, which makes it even worse." Solomon sighed.

"You don't really have to worry about these two Miranda. They know what they're doing."

"Joe."

"I'm not saying that I won't check on them. I'm only saying that I won't get involved if I don't have to."

"That's all I ask Joe. Now... to other matters. Can you stay for breakfast?" The way she said it made it sound like a command rather than a question. Solomon chose to ignore it.

"Sorry, no. I have to get going. Work to do."

"Are you sure you couldn't—"

"Goodbye Miranda."

Cammie POV

_My life is insane._

_ You're a spy. If it were normal, that's when you'd start worrying. Calm down, do your job._

And it was probably true; although I was around thirteen the last time I had any semblance of a normal life. For the past few days, things had been… A little strange. The Nero job was running smoothly, Pablo was doing a good job, he knew his stuff. And we were giving him hints here and there, and lessons, such as how to properly pick locks. In other words, we were keeping a close eye on him. The gang members were a slight problem. They weren't too happy about our deal with Nero, or having to dance to our tune. We were managing that alright though…

I guess the issue was the relationship problems. Working, we just left all of that at the door, like we always had. We'd have made a good team. We do make a good team… it's just hard sometimes. It used to be that we were totally comfortable around each other, no boundaries. And now, we're trying to set a pace, and keep boundaries in place. So it makes the workplace… a little difficult when there's that much tension in the room.

Zach and I lean over a set of architectural drawings for a warehouse where the _Temibile_ stored weapons. We mark entrances and exits, and map out as best we can the maze of boxes and crates piled haphazardly, from the few 3D scans Pablo had been able to take of the place. Pablo himself sits on the floor leaning up against the wall, and reads an English-Italian dictionary that Zach had found somewhere.

"I. I… walk? _Si. _I walk. I r… roon?"

"Run." Zach corrected him.

"Run. I run… _Why is there an 's' at the end when you're talking about 'he' or 'she'?" _He asks in Italian. Zach and I look at each other with confused expressions."

"Um…"

"_Because English is a confusing language." _I tell him. Zach smirks at me.

"_Ah. Si, that's' true." _He turns back to the dictionary and continues going through simple verbs. For my part, I make sure I'm not blushing.

"Alright, so, if we set the fire in sector D5, and run a fuse through piles A, D and F, that will probably spike the fire where we want it." Zach points out.

_Spiking my heart rate…_

"But are we going for signal fire or industrial accident? We can't let Nero's men think they've been set up. They'd believe an outside party had something to do with the fire, and we're the only possible suspects there—unless…" I stop.

"We tie in a third party." Zach finishes for me.

"So we sell both side's information to a third party, and they'll do our job for us--"

"Yep. Only I haven't worked out who yet." _Why didn't I think of this?_

"_I Fulmini_. They're not as big as Nero's or _le Temibile, _and they're really more of a political faction, but for that reason they've caused more trouble for the CIA than both the others put together."

"They'd be willing to make a move like that?"

"What extremist wouldn't?"

"Good point. We'll need to get in contact with them." says Zach. I notice how he avoids looking at me, how his hands slightly shake.

A knock comes at the door, making us both jump. From the corner of my eye I see Pablo marking his place in the dictionary, setting it aside, and slowly getting to his feet. Zach and exchange glances.

"It has to be CIA. Nobody else knows this address, unless we let it slip." Zach swings his arms, making sure concealed weapons are in place. Its one thing that this profession does to you—the slight paranoia that comes from knowing many people would gladly slip a knife between your ribs while you're sleeping, and the fact that many have already tried.

"I'll get it." says Zach. We all move towards the door. I position myself just inside the kitchen, out of sight of the doorway. Zach looks through the peephole.

"It's Solomon."

"_The _Solomon?"

"Do we know any other Solomons?"

"Well, there is _King _Solomon, but seeing as he lived thousands of years ago…" Zach smirks and opens the door.

"Hello Mr. Goode. Ms. Morgan. And who is this?" he says, gesturing to Pablo.

_He knew I'd be hiding._

"This is Pablo."

"_Chi sei tu?" (who are you?) _asks Pablo.

"You trust him?" asks Solomon.

"With some things." I answer. I'm beginning to feel as though I'm in high school again.

"_Il mio nome è Angleo." (My name is Angelo.) _

_ "That didn't answer my question." _says Pablo, eyeing Solomon suspiciously. Zach and I glance at each other across the room.

"_I'm an old friend of these two." _

_ "Dante said he didn't have many friends. Cara said not to trust people without good reason. And not to trust them beyond a certain point." _He kept a calm exterior, and a quiet voice, but the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

_ "They're bringing you up quickly." _says Solomon, one eye cocked.

_"You grow up fast round here." _says Pablo. I think it's time for me to intervene, so

_ "Pablo, relax. We do trust him."_

_ "Buono. Then I'm going to read my dictionary." _He goes back to his corner. Solomon, Zach and I walk into the office.

"Where'd you pick up the kid?" he says, frowning in our direction.

"Nero's office." says Zach with a smirk. Solomon's eyebrows shoot up.

"That ought to be an interesting story, but for a later time alas. What have you got here?"

"A…Blueprint?" says Zach, in a voice that smacks 'well duh.' Solomon rolls his eyes.

"Yes I knew that Mr. Goode. What is it of?"

"With all due respect Sir," I but in, "what are you doing here?"

"Aha! Someone who still has the nerve to ask me these questions!" he exclaims. I blush.

"Well, Miranda Alde told on you two to your Mother, whom in turn told me, hence, here I am. Making sure you're not going to get your heads blown off." Zach snorts, like it's all very funny.

_That bitch! How could she!_

"She told _my Mother!?" _

"Oh lower your voice Cam—Ms. Morgan. She was worried about you."

"Yeah? So? She shouldn't--" Solomon cuts me off.

"And Miranda, being Miranda, knew that I would be the person your mother would send."

"Ms. Alde? You and Ms--" Zach shuts up at the glare that Solomon sends him, but he can't keep back the snort of mirth that escapes him.

"Ms. Alde was an old friend—whom I try to avoid as much as possible."

"I'm sure there are quite a few interesting stories behind that." I say.

"Which I'm also as sure that you will never hear. Now, to business." All three of us turn back to the table. Later, the timer beeps for the coffee Zach had put on. The heat of the day slowly increases, as does the traffic outside. Somewhere out there are the gang members who could be soon to lose their lives.

_They're human beings._

_ I'm doing this for my country. Don't think about anything else. It won't do any good._


	9. author's note

Dear readers,

I sincerely apologize for the wait. Its true I haven't updated in something like six months. My life has been… shall we say chaotic? It's my fault of course—I had to choose to go to the hard school, and do way too many sports etc. What can I say?

I have a lot more to write on this story. I have so many ideas its ridiculous. And I can garuntee that the next chapter will be exciting. When I find the time, I plan on continuing this story, and writing a sequel or two. That might take a while though. After finals next week, I am hoping to work on both my fan fictions and hopefully bring them up to speed.

Thanks for everything

-voile


	10. Chapter 10 The Warehouse

**Hello again! Thanks everyone for the positive feedback! It was great!**

**On another note. Military time is used in this chapter. So that means everything past 12 noon counts up to 24, i.e. 1:00 becomes 1300 hours. Also, that part is written from the perspective of a field agent, third person.**

**On with the story.**

Miranda sat at her desk, sifting through a pile of reports. Afternoon sunlight filtered in through the blinds to her right to land on piles of paper, various machines, and several lipstick smeared coffee cups. Her bottle blond hair was pin straight, her skin burnt, and her lips a virulent red from the lipstick that didn't match her skin tone. Miranda hated the hot Italian sunshine; it made her feel sticky and uncomfortable. She didn't like Italian food, how it was all rich creamy made her feel sick. And she hated the fact that Joe Solomon wouldn't return her calls. In short, she was not a happy camper.

She had begun to nod off to sleep when the sounds of an explosion echoed across the city, making her jump. For the first time in months, she lifted the dust covered blinds, coughing, and looked outside the window. To the northeast, a puff of smoke was beginning to rise above the horizon. Miranda watched it for a few moments, and then closed the blinds again. Her eyes hurt.

A few minutes later, the fax machine beeped. A red light flashed, so she got up to swipe her fingerprint across the scanner. The fax came through, labeled important. Miranda rolled her eyes. To her, nothing much was important in this city. Slouching back in her chair, she began to read.

Agent ******* (Classified)

From surveillance outside of Z-503 warehouse, owned by certain "Signori Stephano" known arms dealer.

1100 hours. Man in red shirt seen on balcony opposite and below agent's. Seems to be watching the loading dock.

1115 hours. A Mr. Vince, employee of Stephano, drives in from main road, unlocks warehouse gate, and enters, leaving agent's line of sight. Flurry of activity from window, two more in red shirts appear.

1130 hours. White shirt collar and flash of gold spotted on top of rooftop of warehouse.

1200 hours. An unmarked white van enters from the main road. Around 15 men with green shirts step out, point into the warehouse, and enter. Men with white shirts and gold pop up and watch them. Red shirts in window are now frantically waving their arms, talking on walkie-talkies. They also appear to have spotted the 10 white shirts on the rooftop.

1230 hours. 6 black cars enter from alleyways surrounding, and below agent. 30 red shirts exit, armed to the teeth. They surround the entrance to the warehouse, guns aimed. Shots fired, red shirts go down. Red shirts begin firing at white shirts on rooftop, white shirts go down.

1245 hours. Shots fired from inside warehouse, presumably from green shirts.

1300 hours. Most white shirts presumed dead. Green shirts begin exit from building, red shirts begin firing on them, including those in the window.

1315 hours. Lone white shirt stands on top of warehouse, and fires one long shot into the sky. Both green and red shirts stop to look at him. White shirt begins to speak, but agent is too far to hear words. Strangely shaped object in white shirt's hands.

1320 hours. Strange object confirmed as explosive device. Agent is clearing the area.

1330 hours. Police pass agent on his way out.

1340 hours. Lone gunshot heard.

1341 hours. Explosion in the direction of the warehouse.

Miranda looked up from reading, towards her window again. Then she put the report down, and leaned back, suddenly exhausted.

"Red is Nero's color. The green must have been the Temibile. And the white?..." she broke off.

"It must have been I Fulmini… the religious political group…" she mused to herself, twirling a hair at the nape of her neck.

"Joe Solomon had better tell those kids to clean up this mess. Because I don't want to have to deal with a gang war."

_**To be continued…**_


	11. Chapter 11

Again, I apologize. It has been quite some time since I last updated this story. I have been extremely busy—on top of my ridiculous amount of schoolwork, I participated in nanowrimo this year, and did, as usual, too many extracurricular activities.

This story was called to my attention again when someone reviewed to ask if I had abandoned it. I have not updated in six months, so the obvious answer would be "yes". However, I am unwilling to part with the characters I have furthered the development of, nor the plotline that seems to draw me in. I have plans for Zach and Cammie, but sadly no time to see them through.

Over the next couple of weeks, I will edit this story. Please be patient with me, although at this point I doubt I deserve it. My current issue with the story the way it is, is that my thoughts advance too rapidly to get them all down on paper, hence my plots evolve to swiftly. This needs to change, and it will.

Hoping to offer all my readers (whether devoted to or disgusted with me) a better tale,

-Voile


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